


airbed

by nowrunalong



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Imagine your OTP having to share an air mattress for the night. Person A is already in bed and comfortable, and person B, very tired from the day, flops down on the other side, thus launching A into the air."</p>
            </blockquote>





	airbed

_Of course_ Finch has safe houses outside of New York City, too. Reese wonders absently just how many places the billionaire owns.

They’d left town because their number had, and they hadn’t wanted to let the potential perpetrator out of their sight.

“You ever even been to this one, Finch?” Reese asks, eyes circling the New Jersey apartment, taking in the empty white walls and mostly-empty rooms. “Doesn’t look very lived-in."

“No,” Finch says slowly, following Reese’s gaze. “Actually, I was under the impression that I’d paid for it to be fully-furnished.” His mouth draws into a thin line, unimpressed.

Reese passes by him in the doorway and rounds the corner to take a closer look at the rest of the flat.

As it turns out, the single piece of furniture is a king-sized air mattress in the bedroom.

“Okay,” Reese says, returning to Finch in the hall. “There’s a mattress you can use. I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

Reese isn’t particularly keen on the idea—at least in a hotel, the floor is carpeted—but he’ll sleep on hardwood if it means that Finch will be comfortable. Besides, his own comfort has never been high on his list of priorities.

Finch finally moves from the door, removing his shoes and inspecting the bedroom for himself, a frown on his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Reese.”

“Sorry?"

Reese’s eyes are narrowed, confused, seeking clarification.

“Sleeping on the floor would hardly be acceptable under these conditions. Not only have you been _shot_ recently, but the lack of proper support on your back will leave you stiff and most likely highly uncomfortable."

“Doesn’t matter. If you think I’m going to let you sleep on the floor—”

“Hardly, Mr. Reese,” Finch repeats, his air that of someone pointing out something incredibly obvious. “This is a king-sized mattress.”

Reese grasps his meaning.

“Oh."

“Of course,” Finch continues, “the other option is to get a proper hotel room.” (The ‘with two beds’ goes unspoken.) “That would mean compromising our proximity to Ms. Patton, but—”

“This’ll be fine, Finch. Just don’t hog the blankets.”

Finch flashes him a look but otherwise does not deign to reply.

—

The billionaire goes to bed first, leaving Reese alone in the kitchen with the bottle of water he’d picked up from the convenience store across the street. He’d been forced to make the trip upon the (unsurprising) discovery that the apartment didn’t have glasses in the cupboards.

After setting the now-empty plastic bottle down on the counter, Reese heads to the bathroom and changes out of his suit and into a pair of pyjama bottoms.

In the bedroom, Finch is already asleep, glasses resting on top of the neatly-folded clothing in his open overnight bag. Reese watches him for a moment before stepping around to the empty side of the air mattress.

He stands there for a full minute, unmoving.

Even though sharing the makeshift bed had been Finch’s suggestion, Reese still feels as though he's invading his employer’s privacy. The man values his personal space. Normally, Reese doesn’t mind encroaching on it—a hand on Finch’s shoulder, back; his face so close as to be almost threatening: it's a sort of game he plays—but this feels different, somehow.

Reese turns and leaves the room.

—

Finch is right: the hardwood is unkind. Reese lies on his back in the corner of the empty living room, jacket balled up behind his head as a substitute for a pillow.

He stares at the ceiling and feels increasingly tired, but doesn’t fall asleep.

—

Reese isn’t sure how much time passes before he hears Finch get up to use the bathroom. Rather than returning to the bed, however, the pyjama-clad figure of his employer looms above him, looking somewhat exasperated.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mr. Reese.”

“You need your space,” Reese mumbles from the floor.

“I need you to be able to move in the morning.”

Reese lets his eyes drift closed rather than answering; after a moment, he hears Finch walk away.

—

Some time later, Reese drags himself up out of the corner and into the bedroom. He’s truly exhausted now and the mattress does look inviting. Finch seems to have drifted off again, his back to the ex-operative.

Reese doesn’t overthink it this time. If Finch has decided that this is fine, then it’s fine. Inelegantly, he flops down on the empty side.

Unfortunately for Finch, the sudden impact of Reese’s weight sends the lighter man flying. Beside him, Finch makes a disgruntled noise as he reconnects with the airbed.

“Ah,” Reese drawls, voice slow but apologetic. “Sorry about that. Forgot this was an air mattress.”

Finch just shifts back to where he’d been sleeping before the disturbance.

“Get some sleep, Mr. Reese.”

Reese rolls onto his side, facing Finch, watching the rise and fall of the other man’s back as he falls asleep for the third time that night.

Within minutes, Reese’s breathing has slowed to the same rhythm and he’s sleeping, too.


End file.
